Would You Rather Date Or Deduce?
by Thorn17
Summary: John's interest in dating women has rekindled, much to Sherlock's annoyance. However, this is only the start of revelations affecting them. Before they can deal with their own feelings, they have to deal with the latest threat to their safety whilst coping with Mycroft's meddling.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was curious. In truth, he had always been curious, but knew better than to let what he perceived to be his weakness show. It was far better to let the world believe him to be a 'machine', a man who could - in his own words - divorce himself from feelings. However, as he watched the people in his life meet partners to connect with on an emotional level that was unfamiliar to him, Sherlock's curiosity deepened. Mrs Hudson had finally started to date somebody after the execution of her husband some years ago, albeit with somebody who unfortunately already had a wife. John's latest attempt at dating, this time with Jeanette, had proved to be unsuccessful, which admittedly could be linked to John's unwavering commitment to Sherlock. Even Lestrade had been in the process of getting back together with his wife, however misguided Sherlock believed their latest attempt to be. But who did Sherlock have? It seemed that both John and their friends would have been happy if Sherlock had embarked on a relationship with Irene Adler, had the fact that she was a traitor and known confederate of Sherlock's arch-enemy Moriarty remained undetected. Sherlock _had_ allowed himself to entertain the idea of a relationship with Irene, though he would never admit this to anyone because he had permanently dismissed it within three minutes of meeting her. Although there was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that Irene would have prevented him from becoming bored - boredom was one of the main banes of his life - he could never trust her, and even if he could, their relationship would almost certainly drive John away. Sherlock was aware that, of all the things he had lost, nothing would compare to the pain of losing John. If John approached him, informing him that he would be leaving 221B for good, no matter the reason, Sherlock knew that he would not be able to cope. John was everything that Sherlock was not, and vice versa. They complimented each other, _completed _each other, like yin and yang, or a hypothesis with corroborating evidence.

"Sherlock?"

The detective did not appear to hear to John's call. No part of his body even flinched at the word which had disturbed the silence. He simply remained where he stood, staring out of the window onto the street below.

"Sherlock, I'm going out for a bit."

Sherlock swiveled round and saw John standing in the doorway. "Why?"

"I have a date."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John understood this to be a sign of acknowledgement, that he could go on his date without any of the usual arguments that started when John's interest in dating was rekindled. Sherlock knew better. He knew what John was thinking, and it _was_ accurate to an extent, but secretly Sherlock just wanted him to stay at home. He failed to see why John couldn't understand that their life together should be enough for him. John had never been very successful with dating anyway, for which Sherlock took some credit. Again, he would never admit to this, but Sherlock had deliberately foiled some of John's dates. He couldn't pinpoint the exact reason_ why_ he had done it, but understood enough to know that it wasn't out of malice or revenge. These women had done nothing wrong. Sherlock had found gate-crashing John's circus date with Sarah particularly amusing, and when Jeanette had come round for the Christmas party at 221B, Sherlock 'couldn't remember' which date she was. Of course he hadn't _really_ forgotten, Sherlock never forgot anything. John should have known better than to fall for this ploy, which would, in turn, have given him his first clue to deducing Sherlock's true feelings: Sherlock was concerned that if John found the right woman, he would leave Sherlock behind.

"Are you even listening to me, Sherlock?"

"What, sorry? Oh yes, of course. A _date_." It was obvious now. John was wearing a new blue shirt, a tie, smart trousers and shoes. His hair had been combed, and there was a faint waft of cologne in the air. "Which one is it this time?"

"Anthea."

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks. He had been expecting to hear that John was planning another futile attempt at dating Sarah or Jeanette again. "Mycroft's assistant?"

"Yes. She telephoned earlier, asking if I'd like to take her out to dinner. Problem?"

Sherlock could not understand why Anthea would agree to date John now, when she had always rebuffed his advances in the past. What had changed? Surely Mycroft would not sink so low as to use Anthea to spy on them both? Mycroft had never been the most subtle of people, but this was all a bit too obvious, even for him. Sherlock tapped out a text and set it to his brother.

_Stop using your assistant to spy on John and I. SH_

"Right, well, I'm going now anyway."

"Where are you taking her?"

"Angelo's restaurant. Can you believe that she's never been there? It's one of the best restaurants in London!"

"There are many things that I don't believe, John, but this is one that I simply don't care about."

Sherlock's phone bleeped with a text alert. By reading his brother's reply, Sherlock missed the scowl on John's face.

**Your deductions are inaccurate. Anthea requested permission to date John, I have not meddled. MH**

This was unexpected; Anthea's desire to date John was genuine. Sherlock still failed to understand what had changed, and concluded that the only way to satisfy his curiosity was by secretly joining John on his date. If confronted, Sherlock could always defend his actions by arguing that John needed to be protected. The world's only consulting detective had many enemies, and if any of them had the slightest inkling of how Sherlock felt about John, perhaps even understanding Sherlock's feelings better than he did himself, then it was likely that the doctor would become their prime target.

"Right, well I'm going now to meet her." John's voice broke the silence again.

Sherlock pocketed his phone. "Fine. I might not be here when you get back."

John pulled a face which suggested that he was confused about something. Sherlock couldn't see what he could possibly be confused about. He had said that he might not be in the flat when John returned, ergo it was obvious that Sherlock was planning on going out too. John didn't need to know where though.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. That's why I might not be here when you return."

As Sherlock read John's expression, he realised how John had interpreted his words, and guilt began to stir in his stomach. "I only meant that I'm going out _tonight_. I'll be coming back." John had thought that Sherlock might disappear, as he sometimes did when he was investigating a case. The length of time that he was gone varied. Sometimes it was overnight, other times it could be for a week or more.

John shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped Sherlock perceived to be a nonchalant way. "Okay, fine. See you later." He turned and began to descend the stairs leading to Baker Street. He failed to notice Sherlock's soft footsteps behind him, or see Sherlock's face in the cab behind him as he looked into his own cab's rearview mirror. It was possible to excuse John's ignorance, as his thoughts were preoccupied as to why his dates _didn't _bother Sherlock, when he actually wanted them to. He _wanted_ to provoke Sherlock, to understand the feelings that were undoubtedly generated by the genius's heart. John wanted to know where he stood with a man who could do anything and everything, and still chose to live with him.


	2. Chapter 2

"John! Nice to see you again!" Angelo gave John a warm welcome as the doctor entered his restaurant. John was aware that the restaurant owner was looking over his shoulder. It didn't take someone with Sherlock's intelligence to work out who Angelo was looking for. "No Sherlock tonight?"

"No, not tonight Angelo. I've got a date."

Angelo forced a smile, even though it pained him to hear that his favourite consulting detective had broken up with John. He had always thought that they'd made a good couple. "Well, I'm pleased that you've managed to move on, evidenced by your new date. You know, if it's difficult for you living with Sherlock now that you've broken up, you could always come and live at my house. Just until you can find somewhere more permanent."

"Thanks Angelo," John began, genuinely touched by Angelo's kind offer. "It won't be necessary though, you see, because Sherlock and I were never actually an item. I..."

Angelo interrupted him. "Just because you never made it official does not mean that you were not an item, John."

John could feel that he was beginning to blush, though he didn't really understand why. "No, I mean, we were never actually... do you know what? It doesn't matter. Thank you for your offer, Angelo. It's very kind of you."

Angelo grinned and escorted John to a vacant table to await Anthea's arrival. Once the restaurant owner had returned to the kitchens to chase up the order of another customer, John let out a small sigh. Angelo - or anybody else, for that matter - had never listened to his protestations that he and Sherlock were not an item, and so it had been naive of John to think that they would start believing him now.

The doctor remained oblivious to the Sherlock-shaped shadow that he had acquired. Even after being seated, John failed to notice his roommate skulking behind a newspaper a few tables away. He was preoccupied with the nerves he was experiencing in anticipation of his date with Anthea. John couldn't understand why she had taken such a sudden interest in him, after rejecting him so many times before. His first thought had been that it was something to do with Mycroft, but even the elder Holmes himself wouldn't stoop to using somebody else to do his bidding. John could just about understand and forgive Mycroft for sending Anthea to kidnap him occasionally to avoid Sherlock's attention, but asking her to pretend to date the doctor in order to infiltrate their life together was just cruel.

From across the room, Sherlock could see what John was trying to deduce - with Sherlock already having established the answers to the questions that John was only just beginning to ask himself - and found that he was hurt by John's belief that Sherlock would allow Mycroft to act so cruelly. Did John really think that Sherlock was still unaware that his older brother kidnapped his flatmate every once in a while, sometimes just for fun and other times to ask for favours? Sherlock was disappointed that John had not worked out for himself that his 'secret' meetings with Mycroft had not been secret for some time. Sherlock had followed John to his meeting with The Woman, and so he would extend him the same courtesy with regards to Mycroft's meetings.

"Hello John," said a female voice, distracting both Sherlock and John from their musings. Both men looked up from their various locations and saw that Anthea had arrived at Angelo's restaurant, and was making her way over to John's table.

John stood as Anthea approached and sat opposite him at the table. "Hello Anthea, you - er - look beautiful tonight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at what he believed to be a blatant lie on John's behalf - Sherlock didn't think Anthea was particularly attractive, but John's body language seemed to be indicating otherwise - and he scanned the newspaper for any articles that were of interest to him. He didn't really want or need to see his flatmate make an idiot of himself during what John believed to be his latest attempt at dating. There were hardly any articles that were of interest to Sherlock - the true perpetrators responsible for the murders or crimes that had been reported were all too obvious for him to waste his time on; even the police would be able to work these out without assistance - but this was not particularly important. He wouldn't have to hide behind this newspaper for much longer. Sherlock had deduced Anthea's true intentions within a few seconds of her arrival - and it certainly wasn't dating his flatmate - but he thought it prudent to let _her _reveal the reasons to John. He didn't want to be the one responsible for the embarrassment John would soon feel.

"Thank you, John," said Anthea, but it wasn't long before she was distracted by her mobile phone, drawing her attention away from him. "I think you're aware of why I asked you to come here."

"Well, yes. I thought this was supposed to be a date."

Anthea looked up at John, momentarily forgetting her mobile. "Well, obviously that's not quite what I meant."

John raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What _did_ you mean?"

"I needed to meet with you alone. The only way that I could get away from Mycroft's prying eyes - and get you away from Sherlock's - was to ask his permission to date you. I don't think that the Holmes brothers are likely to monitor a date, given that anything like this seems extremely insignificant to them."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," John murmured, but Sherlock could lip-read what his flatmate had said. He frowned. Had John realised that Sherlock had followed him to his 'date'? The detective took a closer look at the doctor, and relief washed over him. John had been referring to it being unlikely that _Mycroft _would leave them alone, not Sherlock. Sherlock agreed. Mycroft would definitely have arranged some sort of surveillance around the restaurant. John spoke again. "So...this wasn't a date?"

"No." Anthea sighed. "I'm sorry if I misled you John, but I have something to tell you that I couldn't risk the Holmes brothers overhearing. Not at the minute, anyway."

John was evidently disappointed that Anthea had misled him, raising his hopes only to dash them again. This was clear by his body language - slouched in the chair now, rather than sat up straight -, and his hair - John kept running his hands through his hair now, whereas when he had been under the illusion that this fiasco had been a date, he had refrained from touching it in order to make sure it still looked 'nice'. Sherlock, however, felt relieved, but he couldn't understand _why. _Before he could begin to deduce the reasons, Anthea and John began to communicate again. Sherlock's problem could wait. The game was on. He had known from the minute that Anthea had entered the restaurant that she did not want to date John after all - she had not changed out of her work clothes, she wasn't remotely nervous and she was more preoccupied with her mobile than with John - but Sherlock had not quite ascertained what she had to say that could not be said in front of either Holmes brother. Anthea had a good poker face, Sherlock noted. It was probably why Mycroft had hired her.

Ever the professional, John pushed his personal feelings aside and asked Anthea to continue. "Fine, what is it that you have to tell me?"

Anthea placed her phone on the table. "I'm afraid Mr Holmes is dead."

John's jaw dropped, and the colour drained from his face. "_What? _Which one? Mycroft? _Sherlock?_"

_Sherlock couldn't be dead_, thought John. _He'd only been gone from the flat for thirty minutes at the most. Did that mean Anthea was referring to Mycroft? _John didn't particularly want Mycroft to be dead either. No matter how many times the elder Holmes abducted him, John never resented him for it. Most of the time, Mycroft did it to protect Sherlock, something which John could empathise with entirely.

From his hiding place in the restaurant, Sherlock forced himself to banish the nerves and fear that his body was threatening to force him to endure. _Think this through rationally, logically, Sherlock. It's quite obvious that _you _aren't dead. After me, it is most likely that Anthea is referring to my brother. Mycroft can't be dead, he's far too stubborn for that. My brother wouldn't leave me. No, wait, stop the sentimental reasoning, Sherlock. Logic dictates that if it _was _Mycroft, then Anthea would be visibly distressed. She has too much control over her voice for her to be restraining tears. Her hair and make-up are immaculate, therefore she has not cried recently. If Mycroft really was dead, then who kept texting Anthea constantly? If it was Mycroft's contacts, she would ignore them. No need for their assistance now if that was the case, and Mycroft really was dead. That only left..._ Sherlock came to an unexpected deduction, and wasn't quite sure of how he felt about the result. There was only one other Mr Holmes, excluding Mycroft and Sherlock. This could only mean that Anthea was referring to their _father_, which she was quick to confirm with John.

Anthea shook her head quickly. "No, John. You misunderstand me. Mr Holmes, the father of Mycroft and Sherlock, is dead."

Her words clearly made John relax, and the doctor took a few deep breaths to calm himself before continuing. "I didn't know he was alive to begin with. They never talk about him, only 'Mummy'." There was a reason that Sherlock and Mycroft never spoke about their father, but it was best left unmentioned for the moment.

Anthea nodded. "I know. You see, my relationship with Mycroft is thus. His contacts pass information on to me, I pass it on to him. When he needs information passing on to the contacts, I am the person whom he entrusts to do so."

"What has that got to do with Mr Holmes' death?"

"One of Mycroft's contacts got in touch, saying that they had been approached by someone who claimed to be responsible for the act."

"'Responsible for the act'? But 'act' implies that it wasn't an accident, that Mr Holmes didn't just _die_. Anthea, are you saying their father was _murdered_?"

"Yes. It's part of the reason that I haven't told them of their father's demise."

"Why not? Between them, Mycroft and Sherlock could almost certainly catch the perpetrator."

"It would be better for everybody if Mycroft and Sherlock never came into contact with their father's murderer."

"Why?" John scrutinised Anthea's face carefully. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I need your help, John. We need to decide what to do, because the murderer left another message with Mycroft's contact." Anthea paused, and both Sherlock and John waited with bated breath to hear this second message. "He's coming after the Holmes brothers next."

A chain of events was initiated almost immediately after this revelation. John took out his mobile phone and began to telephone Sherlock. The detective quickly rejected the incoming call before his phone began to ring - Sherlock couldn't very well have his phone going off audibly when he was stalking his flatmate, it would attract all sorts of unwanted attention - and so John left him a frantic voicemail message, telling him to remain in Baker Street and not leave Mrs Hudson's sight.

Sherlock typed a quick text and sent it both John and his brother simultaneously: _Come to Baker Street at once, if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same. SH. _By doing so, Sherlock did two things. Firstly, he confirmed John's mistaken belief that he was still safe in Baker Street, and secondly, he inadvertently set himself a challenge to beat John back to their flat. Although Sherlock was _almost_ certain that Mycroft could protect himself, and that John was perfectly safe because no threat had been made against _him_, the detective would still feel better if he had both men in his sights. Under his protection.

As he sat in the Diogenes Club, Mycroft received Sherlock's text, and rolled his eyes. If Sherlock _wanted _Mycroft to visit him, then something bad had obviously happened. Sherlock usually avoided his brother whenever possible unless somebody he cared about was in danger. As John was with Anthea, and it was very unlikely that Mrs Hudson had managed to get herself into trouble with a criminal, Mycroft deduced that it was either himself or Sherlock whose safety had been threatened. For Sherlock to know of this threat so quickly, he must have followed John to his date with Anthea. He text his personal assistant with further instructions.

Anthea received a text from Mycroft a few seconds later, telling her to collect John and Sherlock in the car immediately, and then take them straight to the Diogenes Club and _not _Baker Street. From across the restaurant, Sherlock correctly deduced that this was what his brother had said. The detective assumed that his brother had countermanded his request simply because he _could_, but that wasn't important right now. Any second now, John was going to realise that Sherlock had followed him, which had not been part of the detective's plan. Sherlock didn't want John to be angry with him. In his mind, he had simply done it out of curiosity and as a gesture of friendship - to protect John if any of their enemies had decided to ambush the doctor when he was seemingly without the detective's protection -, and now it was beginning to seem like a good thing that he had. Anthea began to respond to Mycroft, saying that she would be happy to oblige but unfortunately she was not with Sherlock at present, and would therefore have to make a detour to Baker Street. Mycroft simply told her to turn around, which she did.

"John," she called as the doctor began to leave the restaurant. "Don't go home."

"I have to, Sherlock's asked me to return. He's there, Anthea. _On his own_. With a _murderer_ on the loose!"

"No, he's not," smiled Anthea knowingly, and pointed towards the table where Sherlock was sat. Sherlock slowly lowered the newspaper, and was confronted by a very angry John Watson.

"Have you been here all this _bloody _time? Wait, did you overhear any of that?"

Needless to say, John wasn't amused. He wasn't even flattered that his flatmate had come to protect him from their various enemies, in case they had chosen to attack. John tried his hardest to protect his flatmate, but this task was made more difficult by the detective's apparent reluctance to contribute his own efforts towards this common goal. All thoughts of wanting to provoke a response from Sherlock had disappeared from the doctor's mind. He had _certainly_ managed to provoke a response from the detective, and it wasn't one that had been anticipated. John had never believed that Sherlock would go to these lengths simply to_ protect_ him, and so he reasoned that there must have been an ulterior motive which would explain Sherlock's presence.

"Yes, John. I sat here with the intention of overhearing everything you two lovebirds had to say, though I must say that the conversation was much more interesting that I had anticipated. I'd expected a night of drunken passes and embarrassing stories," Sherlock paused to pull a face. "Instead, I get murders and death threats. Not a bad start to the evening."

"You do realise that it's your _father _that's been murdered, Sherlock? And that _you and your brother are next on the murderer's list?_"

"No need to shout John. Yes, I'm aware of those facts. Obviously. I ensured that there was less than twenty five metres distance between our two tables, which would enable me to hear you perfectly."

"Doesn't it bother you? That your father is dead and both you and Mycroft have been threatened?" asked John incredulously. "Because it certainly bothers me!"

"Not really," Sherlock lied. In truth, he wasn't really that bothered about his father's death, however harsh that sounded, and he knew that John would interpret this the wrong way if he voiced his opinion aloud. Mr Holmes had been absent from his sons' lives for so long, and had been a terrible role model during the handful of years that he _had _been present, making it very hard for Sherlock to miss him at all. However, he _was_ concerned for the welfare of his brother and flatmate, though he was trying his best to hide it. _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

John's jaw locked in frustration. "You just wait until we get home, Sherlock. We're going to have a talk."

Anthea cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt, boys, but you're not going home. You're..."

"Off to see Mycroft," said Sherlock dryly. "Yes, I know."


	3. Chapter 3

The journey to the rendezvous with the elder Holmes was relatively uneventful when compared with the revelations that had occurred in Angelo's restaurant. Each occupant of the car had sat in silence as Mycroft's driver navigated the way to his employer's location. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to work out that they were being taken to the Diogenes Club. It seemed that Mycroft and the Diogenes Club were inseparable, though John couldn't understand why the elder Holmes found the silence there to be so stimulating when his younger brother found it intolerable. Sherlock's senses seemed to enjoy being in overload, whereas Mycroft's own preference seemed to contrast with this.

Throughout the car journey from restaurant to rendezvous, the only audible sound that anybody had registered - besides breathing - was the _tap-tap-tap _of Anthea's nails on the buttons of her mobile phone as she typed countless text messages and responses. This had irritated Sherlock greatly, having correctly deduced that Anthea was corresponding with his brother, whom she would see in a short space of time. He obviously failed to understand how anybody could find engaging Mycroft in conversation interesting, as Anthea evidently did, as indicated by her quick responses and smiles. When Sherlock had asked Anthea what Mycroft could possibly have to say to her - through _texts_, not even _talking_, which was Mycroft's preferred method of communication when he was trying not to be elusive - that he could not say in a few minutes, for their arrival was imminent, Anthea had simply responded with a generic 'if I told you, then I'm afraid I'd have to kill you'. Sherlock had scoffed at this, but noted that his brother had trained her well, as he was the only person that Sherlock knew who was capable of embedding such a 'perfectly dull, predictable response' into his employees.

John had watched with incredulity as Sherlock reprimanded his absent brother for texting something to someone that could have easily been said face-to-face in a matter of minutes. The doctor believed this to be slightly hypocritical, given that Sherlock had been known to text John whilst both men had been sat in the same room. Sherlock had argued that he had been exploring the audio section of his mind palace, and therefore any verbal communication would have caused him to lose concentration, but John didn't accept this as a valid excuse. If Sherlock had been so preoccupied in replaying audio memories, then John could not understand how the detective had simultaneously managed to remember that they needed more milk and had therefore text the doctor to remind him. Surely this would have been more distracting than simply adding another layer of sound to Sherlock's cognitive processing?

"We're here, John" was all the warning that the doctor received before virtually being yanked out of the car by Sherlock.

"Hey, watch it, Sherlock!" John chastised, rubbing his arm where the detective had inadvertently pinched him. He realised that he had been lost in his own musings, but was there really any need for Sherlock to rouse him from them so violently? Admittedly he hadn't felt the car stop, but John was sure that he would have noticed the detective exiting the vehicle, which would in turn have caused him to do the same. John's attention was never occupied by anything other than Sherlock for very long; it didn't take long for Sherlock to find himself in a tricky situation, whether it be being abducted by a rogue cabbie, or having a drug injected into his system by a dominatrix, and John had promised Mycroft that he would protect the younger Holmes.

Nobody spoke as the trio made their way to the Stranger's Room, where it was more than likely that Mycroft would be located. Their deductions were not wrong.

"Ah, Anthea, there you are. Thank you for delivering my brother and his _friend_, you may take the rest of the evening off. Shut the door behind you, please."

John raised his eyebrow at Mycroft's emphasis on the word 'friend', but did not question it. They had more important things to discuss tonight. Sherlock, however, didn't seem to think so.

"Don't start, Mycroft. I'm not having _that _conversation with you right now."

"Very well, as you wish. But we _will _be discussing it, Sherlock. What is it that you were so desperate to see me about?"

"Excuse me, but what did I just miss?" John wanted some answers before the Holmes brothers started exchanging more cryptic questions. "What 'conversation'? Oh, and my date went really well, thanks for asking," he added sarcastically.

Mycroft shook his head. "As much as it pains me to say it, John, Sherlock is right. My earlier emphasis on your relationship was unnecessary, and therefore the conversation to which my dear brother is referring is not important as present. We can deal with it at a later date, once this new situation has been resolved." The elder Holmes relaxed into his armchair slightly. He gestured for his guests to sit in the other chairs that had been pulled up to the desk at which he was seated, which the two men did. "What has happened, Sherlock? What have you done this time?" It appeared that dating was of such little interest to him that he had either forgotten or ignored John's sarcastic gripe.

"I haven't done anything, Mycroft." Sherlock kept his gaze locked on his brother.

John raised an eyebrow, turning his head to face the detective. "Are you sure about that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, I followed you to your date with Anthea, which incidentally was _not _the massive betrayal of trust that you seem to have labelled it as, but besides that, this problem has nothing to do with me."

"Problem?" Mycroft began, but then paused as the cogs of his brilliant brain turned, enabling him to make correct deductions. "Anthea intended to share a secret with John, but you overheard it. Deliberately, I assume, given that you followed them to their date. You don't like what you heard though, am I right?"

Sherlock nodded tersely.

"Isn't there some turn of phrase about eavesdroppers overhearing things that they wish they hadn't?"

John instantly knew that Mycroft was either referring to the idiom 'curiosity killed the cat' or the saying 'eavesdroppers will hear something bad about themselves if they listen for long enough', though he thought it prudent to let the matter drop.

"Probably, though I really couldn't care whether there is or isn't, Mycroft. Go on then," said Sherlock bitterly. "Either deduce the rest of tonight's events or let me explain it to you. I would actually like to go home at some point this evening."

"Patience, dear brother," replied Mycroft, but it wasn't long before his eagle eyes were scrutinising both Sherlock and John again for answers. "Ah, I see," he said softly, steepling his hands under his chin just as John had witnessed the younger Holmes brother do many times before. "There has been a bereavement. The lack of distress emitting from you both suggests that it was either a murder - to which you have become desensitised through your occupations - or it was somebody of little importance to you. Especially you, John. You frequently display much more emotion than Sherlock, possibly even an unhealthy level, and yet you are not distressed at this bereavement. However, you are worried about something, so..."

"It's our father, Mycroft." Sherlock had obviously grown tired of waiting for his brother to conclude his deductions. The younger brother had always found it hard to let somebody work something out for themselves when he already knew the answer, and this was proving to be no exception.

Obviously sticking by his belief that 'sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side', Mycroft took a moment to absorb the information whilst maintaining an impassive expression. The silence made John feel uncomfortable, and so he began to speak.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mycroft. And yours too, Sherlock, but that's not all that we've found out tonight." He took a deep breath. "Anthea has received intelligence that indicates your father was murdered, and that the culprit will be pursuing you both as his next targets."

"Why didn't Anthea tell me this herself?" This was Mycroft's first question, which puzzled John as, out of all the possible questions Mycroft could have asked after receiving this devastating piece of news, he had not expected it to be this one.

"I think that she's concerned for your well-being. She cares about you, even if you don't return the favour." John hypothesised.

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Doesn't matter. Look, put it this way; if it had been me that had been contacted with this information, I would've been terrified to tell Sherlock because I wouldn't want him rushing in to the situation and putting himself in danger. Both Anthea and I have a sort of unspoken agreement that we will do everything in our power to stop you from getting hurt."

"You've already hypothesised at why Anthea may wish to protect _me_," reasoned Mycroft. "But why would you want to risk your own life to save Sherlock's?"

"He'd do the same for me." John said quickly. Too quickly. Mycroft simply looked at him as if to say that he knew this wasn't the only reason.

"I am still here, you know," murmured Sherlock indignantly.

"Yes, Sherlock, we know," sighed Mycroft. "You may as well spit it out, John. From what you have told me, and what I have deduced, we don't have a lot of time, and so I really do think you need to tell my brother the truth."

"The truth? What truth?" John hoped that his lie was more convincing in reality than it actually sounded. He didn't really feel like _now _was the most appropriate time to have a discussion about _feelings_ with the detective. It looked like he was very much mistaken.

"Come on now, Doctor Watson. It's time for a revelation."

John said nothing. He hated how Mycroft could do this so easily. Didn't he realise how painful this was going to be? Being rejected twice in one night was _not _what he had planned for this evening.

"Mycroft," Sherlock warned. "Don't do this. Don't make him."

"_Fine,_" said a despairing Mycroft. "You do it then, Sherlock. There's not going to be a better time to say it for the foreseeable future. You've wanted to tell him for quite some time now anyway."

Sherlock felt very uncomfortable, but he knew his brother was right. Sherlock couldn't bear the thought of John sacrificing himself to save him, and hoped that if he told the truth, it may convince the doctor _not _to follow through with his plans. The detective was aware that, once spoken, his words could never be retracted. It was highly likely that John would leave him, move out of 221B and refrain from speaking to him again. However, Sherlock was now beginning to reason that it may not be a bad thing if he did, because then at least John would be out of harm's way. Sherlock could repress the pain of loss, rejection and separation much better than John could, but it would still hurt nevertheless. The detective took a deep breath, aimed one last glare in his smug brother's direction, and then whispered softly. "I think that I love you, John."

**Author's Note: Sorry for changing the title and any confusion it may have caused. I'm happy with this current title and so I won't be changing it again. Apologies!**


	4. Chapter 4

It took John a few moment of awkward silence before he could remember how to speak. However, he still wasn't particularly articulate once the ability returned. "Erm, Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, obviously mindful that his brother was still in the room. "Yes?"

John took the hint about Mycroft, and tried to phrase his query as articulately as possible without giving the elder Holmes any leverage to use against Sherlock. "You, erm, you do realise what you just said, don't you?"

Sherlock scoffed impatiently. "Of course. I do believe that my exact words were 'I think that I love you, John'."

John rolled his eyes. Was Sherlock being deliberately difficult? Then again, John wouldn't put it past the man to be irksome on purpose, especially regarding a topic that he knew the detective to be uncomfortable with discussing. "Alright then, I'll rephrase. Do you realise what those words really _mean_, what impact they have on a person?" What John really mean was 'do you realise what kind of impact they have on _me_?' but he thought that it was prudent not to be that specific. With Sherlock, it was possible that he was using a sentimental word because he had misunderstood its true meaning, or because it was part of his latest experiment. John refused to get his hopes up too soon.

"Yes. I couldn't find a particular definition of love that I wholly agreed with during my research around the topic, but I believe that the sentiment of 'love' is typically seen as a strong, positive and warm emotion, affection or pleasure that one person feels for another." John could see that Sherlock didn't truly understand 'love' even with this volume of knowledge in his mind palace, and so the detective had resorted to trying to apply it to situations that he had experienced first-hand instead of reading about those of others. "I believe that it has already been made clear through various means - especially through Moriarty and his cryptic comment regarding my heart - that I simply cannot be without you, John. My mind just won't function properly when you're not there babbling on about jumpers or milk. Jealousy seems to be a side effect of love, and my research has led me to conclude that this was what I was experiencing when you went on your date with Anthea tonight. It seems likely that I was under the influence of jealousy when you embarked on relationships with all of the others too - Jeanette and Sarah are two specific examples to aid your comprehension - but I cannot conclude that there is a definite cause-and-effect relationship there because I have not finished analysing those particular sets of data yet. Rest assured, I will feedback on my findings in due course."

"So...when you say 'love', you mean that you don't want to...erm..."

"That I don't want to have a physical relationship? Well done, John, your observational skills really are better than I sometimes give you credit for." Sherlock looked pleased as he continued to speak, as if the worry and anticipation at receiving John's reaction to his declaration had melted away. "No, I don't particularly want a physical relationship. You should know my stance on things like that by now."

John nodded fervently, like a student seeking approval from a teacher. "'Everything but the brain is transport'."

Neither man had forgotten that Mycroft was still in the room, obviously having deemed this conversation to be trivial enough to _not_ be allocated some privacy. Both Sherlock and John had noticed that Mycroft has raised a quizzical eyebrow at their conversation, the expression in his eyes challenging, but the elder Holmes had - so far - mercifully remained silent.

"As painful as it is for me to admit this, John, it seems that you are the one person in the world that I cannot bear being away from for extended periods of time. The thought of you leaving me behind for someone else causes me to experience all of the medically acknowledged symptoms of fear and apprehension. You're the one person in the world that I trust completely and truly class as a friend, though while I'm being forced through this embarrassing exhibition of emotions by my _dearest_ brother, I may as well point out that I do indeed consider three others as very close, important people. As Mycroft delights in reminding me, you have changed me into what he believes to be a 'better man', and I must admit that, unfortunately, I am inclined to agree with him. You complete me, compliment me. You are everything that I am not, and I think that we can safely assume that this would be correct the other way around too, don't you?"

John was shocked and stunned at hearing such a long speech from Sherlock that had been a revelation of the detective's true feelings - which was what John had decided that he wanted whilst in the cab on the way to his date with Anthea earlier this evening - and _not _one of Sherlock's usual spectacular but simultaneous 'show-off' deductions. There had been times in his life that John had struggled to find the right words to say, but this was the first time that he simply couldn't think of _anything _to say at all. He had left 221B expecting some kind of relationship with Anthea to blossom, and now here he was in the exclusive Diogenes Club receiving a 'declaration of love' from _Sherlock Holmes_ of all people, though John was not entirely convinced by the detective's definition of the sentiment. From experience, the doctor thought that 'love' had to have some kind of physical element to it, as it had within his relationships with women. Each of them had professed to 'loving' him, but then, none of those relationships had been particularly successful, admittedly in part due to Sherlock's meddling, but also because he had never felt completely happy with any of them. Could he say that he was completely happy with Sherlock, a man who left decomposing heads in the fridge alongside food to measure the coagulation of saliva after death? John couldn't deny that moments like these were infuriating, but they had never caused his feelings for Sherlock to waver, even for a second. Maybe a platonic relationship with Sherlock was truly all he needed.

With John's mind being void of anything remotely intelligent or useful to say that he did not fear that the Holmes brothers would ridicule, his innate politeness must have been activated as his default setting. He managed to muster a soft "thank you", to which the detective simply gave a wry smile, but John was very aware of the inadequacy of his words. The inadequacy of his words seemed to be highlighted even further judging by the content of Sherlock's next sentence.

"Therefore John, for the exact reasons that I have just mentioned, I want you to move out."


	5. Chapter 5

To say that John felt confused was an understatement. He had gone from feeling flattered to offended in a second. He was bewildered at the same time as he was experiencing crystal-clear clarity and understanding. John evidently believed that he was finally proving to be a distraction to the detective, the man who scoffed at the very mention of the word 'feelings' and swore that all that mattered to him was the work. Sherlock apparently wanted John out, having eventually tired of tolerating him. Out of his flat, out of his life, and out of interfering with the cases that he obviously prized above the man whom he had just admitted was his only true friend.

The whole situation would have made more sense had it been the opposite way around, with John declaring his 'love' for Sherlock - though he was _still _not convinced that this was the right word for what his flatmate claimed to feel, especially judging by what Sherlock had just asked him to do, but John knew that trying to disprove Sherlock's research without any contradictory evidence would be futile, and he would therefore have to prove it to the detective instead - then he would have understood Sherlock's reaction of asking him to leave 221B because it didn't seem that Sherlock was capable of reciprocating those kinds of feelings. Had John's slow, inadequate response to Sherlock's declaration frightened said detective into thinking that he had made a terrible mistake, and that John didn't feel the same way? If they were sticking with Sherlock's definition of love, then _that _idea really _was_ a ridiculous notion, but then Sherlock's track record at interpreting sentiment correctly was not great.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock," began John softly. "Did you really deduce that my reaction to your declaration of so-called love would be to reject you, after everything we've been through and apparently mean to each other, and so you've decided to ask me to leave now to save you the humiliation of me offering to leave later?"

"Doctor Watson," interjected a weary Mycroft, but John was in no mood to be interrupted by the wrong Holmes brother, not when something as serious as this was at stake. If anybody was going to contradict him, John needed it to be Sherlock, not his interfering elder brother.

"You stay out of this, Mycroft!" John snapped. "As much as I respect you and your position in the British Government, it still won't prevent me from punching you if I find out that _you_ are responsible for this. You may be able to read my feelings better than I can myself, but I'm warning you now, if you've done anything to make your brother come to an erroneous conclusion regarding _my own feelings_, then..."

"Really, John, since when has Sherlock ever listened to me in the past, nevermind taken my advice in coming to a conclusion that could be _this _erroneous?"

The transition from the use of John's formal title of 'doctor' to that of his proper name did not go unnoticed. It seemed that Mycroft - of all people - was trying to diffuse the tension in the room, which John thought was a bit ironic seeing as he had been responsible for it materialising in the first place. He was the one who had tried to coerce John into revealing his feelings for Sherlock, and when he had refused, turned on the detective himself. Mycroft had an IQ level that John doubted could be measured by normal means, but like his brother, he was spectacularly ignorant about some things. Asking _Sherlock Holmes _to try and put the feelings that he constantly denied he experienced into words had not been a particularly intelligent move, and now everything was on the verge of being ruined because Sherlock had misunderstood John's sentiment and wrongly believed the man to be offended by his so-called 'declaration of love'.

Realising that he hadn't answered the elder Holmes, John spoke through gritted teeth. "Sherlock is never wrong." Obviously Sherlock _was _wrong, especially regarding what he perceived to be John's feelings for him, but this was not what John had meant. What he had meant was 'Sherlock is never wrong unless somebody has fed him false information, like Moriarty and his stupid non-existent lines of computer code. How on Earth is Sherlock supposed to deduce details from facts that aren't actually facts at all?' However, John refrained from saying all of this, which would have provoked Mycroft further, because the doctor actually wanted this conversation to advance, unlike the two Holmes brothers who could quite happily spend many hours arguing about trivial topics just to annoy each other.

"Neither am I." Mycroft gave a rare smile that showed rather a lot of his teeth. "There is obviously something wrong with this metaphorical picture then, as it were." Neither John or Sherlock made any effort to speak again or offer a solution, causing Mycroft to roll his eyes despairingly. "Really gentlemen, we haven't got all day. Sherlock, please inform John of the real reason that you want him to move out."

"No."

Mycroft raised a challenging eyebrow. "Don't try and convince me that if you died today, you wouldn't spend your final few moments regretting that you parted with your 'friend' on these terms, Sherlock." The elder Holmes sighed. "I will allow a short display of emotions in order for you to ensure that John's misapprehension with the situation is resolved before we move on to the next stage of the plan. Afterwards, I must insist that we resume our aloof personas. Otherwise, if the murderer catches us in a weakened state - a direct effect of allowing our hearts to rule our heads, as it were - then our chances of survival are diminished somewhat."

"You know as well as I do that he'll be leaving anyway, one way or the other. It doesn't matter if I temporarily weaken myself or not, the outcome is likely to be the same," Sherlock warned pointedly, resorting to mumbling in a successful attempt to prevent John from hearing him. However, threats did not work on Mycroft, a man whose job consisted of many roles, with one of them being intimidating and threatening people on a daily basis.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said sternly. "Just _tell_ him, and then we can move on to the more important matters."

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh, and so John steeled himself for either the embarrassment or pain that would shortly follow Sherlock's imminent reasoning as the detective began to speak. "I want you to, and therefore insist that you do indeed, move out is because if my father's murderer..."

"_Our _father, Sherlock," corrected Mycroft, interrupting his brother in the process.

Sherlock simply ignored him. "If his murderer has set his sights on Mycroft and I, then I cannot allow you to be anywhere near us."

"Go on," urged John, pressing Sherlock for an explanation before his uncertainty got the better of him."_Why _can't you let me help like I usually do? Please tell me that we've not regressed back to 'I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect'!"

Sherlock continued as if the latter part of John's comment had simply not been there."The first reason is that Mycroft and I will be preoccupied with our own - and dare I say each others - safety and protection, and therefore if you are present, you may prove to be an unnecessary distraction, which may result in the murderer inadvertently succeeding in his goal."

John nodded in understanding. "If I distract you, the murderer may use that opportunity to kill you." He could never allow that to happen; he cared for Sherlock too much, and had no particular wish to see Mycroft dead either. "Why did you say 'his' goal? How do you know that the murderer is male?"

"It's statistically more likely," answered both Holmes brothers in unison, before realising what they had done and frowning at each other. Had the situation not been so serious, John would have found this incident quite comical. Sibling rivalry at its height in two grown men. The doctor considered the detective's logic and had to agree that it was flawless, bar one little problem.

"Wait, a minute ago you said that you couldn't bear to be away from me for an extended period of time. Isn't sending me away a bit of a contradiction?"

"Yes, which leads me on to my second reason that I need you to leave. I don't want you to become collateral damage."

John swallowed, trying not to react until he had considered all the possibilities of what Sherlock had meant by that. _Collateral damage_. The person that the detective classed to be his only true friend, the first name that came to Sherlock's mind when the prestigious honour of being called his 'friend' was raised, was still only judged to be collateral damage. Admittedly, it was an apt military term, and the Holmes brother had always been strategists first and foremost, but John was still quite insulted. Was he just one more person be 'dealt' with by Mycroft and his contacts if something should happen to him? Was he really that replaceable to Sherlock? Knowing Sherlock, he had probably used the term 'collateral damage' in a way that he _thought _was acceptable, but was in fact completely inappropriate for describing the point that he was trying to put across, especially if it was in any way related to sentiment.

From his desk, the seated Mycroft could read John's current musings as clearly as the newspaper that lay discarded on his desk.. He had deduced how badly John was taking all of this, and silently scolded Sherlock for talking so cryptically before sighing, reaching for his umbrella before standing. Why could his younger brother never find it within him to just admit his feelings, as simple and primitive as they were? He always had to make everything so dramatic, and it really wouldn't do this time. For one thing, John was still present, and he really didn't ought to be, as time was running out and the murderer would be fast approaching.

"I think what my _dear_ brother is trying and failing to say in a very ineloquent way, John, is that he cares for you, and these feelings cause him to think that you should be placed somewhere out of harms way. 221B is no longer a safe place for you or my brother to reside, and although Sherlock appears to have opted to stay there - judging by his syntax - in the hope that it will lure the murderer into visiting so that he may be apprehended in due course, my brother does not want you to get hurt in the process."

Sherlock didn't contradict his brother, confirming John's suspicions that Mycroft was telling the truth, given that the brothers reveled in arguing over anything and everything. As John's brain processed Mycroft's comments properly, it highlighted one particularly interesting phrase, which John questioned aloud.

"What did you mean 'placed somewhere'?"

Sherlock gave his friend a small, approving smile that Mycroft failed to notice, which John in turn interpreted as the detective being proud of him for picking out his brother's use of that particular word. There were plenty of other suitable words that Mycroft could have used, such as 'leave' or 'move away', alongside any other synonym that had an undertone of freedom or a voluntary decision. 'Placed' sounded too planned, too predetermined, which unnerved John. What was the elder Holmes plotting _now_?

"I have taken the liberty of finding you a suitable abode for you to temporarily reside in until this is over, John." Mycroft offered the relevant pile of papers to John, who barely glanced at them.

"And here was me thinking that you _didn't _want to get rid of me," noted John sarcastically, sounding a lot braver than he actually felt. The doctor had _thought_ that Mycroft was happy with him being on Sherlock's 'side' as long as the bond between the two flatmates proved to be beneficial to all parties, seeing as Mycroft had 'worried about Sherlock constantly' and John had proved to 'be the making of him'.

"This part of the plan was not of my design. Sherlock texted me with his demands whilst you were in the car that I sent for you."

"You really are spectacularly unobservant, John, if you didn't notice," said Sherlock pointedly.

"Yeah, okay, thanks for that," said John dryly. "Well, it looks like you've both managed to consider and arrange everything already. All you want now is for me to consent to your plan and 'go quietly', am I right?"

"Of course," said Mycroft and Sherlock simultaneously, resulting in another joint frowning session.

"Well, that's just too bad, because I'm still not going anywhere, you see. If we're using _your_ definition of love, Sherlock, then I 'love' you too and I don't want to leave you somewhere that I can't protect you. I don't particularly want or need a physical relationship right now either, but I do know - from past experience - that I can't live without you. Call it what you will; obsession, an unhealthy attachment, 'love', but it's how I feel." John had turned to make eye contact with Sherlock during this first part of his speech, but now he broke their shared gaze and addressed both brothers. "I used to be in the Army, _gentlemen_, and so I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You don't need to worry about me getting in the way as you pursue your father's murderer. I think we're all aware that I've proven to be more of a help than a hindrance in most cases. _A Study in Pink_, remember? You can't leave me behind. Not again."

Mycroft looked smug, whereas Sherlock's expression was growing stormy. John was not in the least bit concerned that Sherlock would be angry with him - quite frankly, any outburst of emotion from him when they got home would be better than the disapproving silent treatment - if it meant that he could stay by the detective's side. They were both beginning to realise how important the other one truly was in their lives, but it was too late now.

"I preempted that this would be your response, John, and informed my brother as much," commented a bemused Mycroft.

This presented John with a dilemma. Was the true source of Sherlock's current unhappiness simply being proved wrong by his brother, or by John's refusal to leave the two brothers to catch their father's murderer on their own? John assumed that his declaration of reciprocated platonic 'love' had been overlooked by the fact that he had willingly offered - without coercion from any party - to endanger his own life in an attempt to save the lives of the Holmes brothers.

"You were right a short while ago, John, when you said that we 'wanted' you to consent and go quietly." A confused John turned to face Mycroft, thereby turning his back on Sherlock temporarily, unwittingly placing himself into a trap. "Sherlock and I would have preferred it, we _did_ 'want' you to, but we don't _need _you to."

Before John was really aware of what was happening, he felt a hand containing a cloth clamp down over his mouth. As he squirmed against his assailant, John noticed that the cloth was coated in a sweet-smelling substance that he had inadvertently inhaled. As he felt the world slipping away from him, and the darkness claiming him, John belatedly realised that Sherlock had drugged him with some sort of knock-out, sleep-inducing drug. The process of elimination indicated that it could have only been Sherlock that had done this. John had been facing the stationary elder Holmes, there had been nobody else in the room except for John and Sherlock, John certainly hadn't drugged himself, and Sherlock was the only person that had been stood behind him.

"I'm sorry, John," were the last words that the doctor heard before he closed his eyes and succumbed to the effects of the drug. In this state, he couldn't even be certain which Holmes was apologising.


	6. Chapter 6

To say that John felt 'a bit groggy' when he awoke was an understatement. It was like saying that the Holmes brothers were 'a bit antisocial'. As his consciousness grew, and the memories of what had happened to him came flooding back, the doctor became alert enough to detect any changes to, and therefore increase his level of awareness of his surroundings. Although John's eyes were reluctant to open because of the rheum - more commonly known as 'sleep' - that had formed around his eyelids whilst he had been in the drug-induced state of unconsciousness, his other senses - heightened by adrenaline - indicated that he was currently lying in a bed. The feel of a soft pillow beneath his cheek, the smooth bed linen underneath his bare feet, and the spatial awareness that he was laying horizontally, but not at ground level. Taking all of this into consideration, John determined that he was certain of two things. The first was that when he and Sherlock had arrived at the Diogenes Club, the doctor had been fully clothed, which made him a little curious as to why his feet were currently bare. The second was that it was highly unlikely that somebody as ordinary as himself would have been permitted to use a bedroom facility in said prestigious club under any circumstances - drugged or not - if such a room even existed on the premises. These deductions - although admittedly nowhere near Sherlock's standard - led John to the conclusion that he was no longer in the Diogenes Club, having been moved instead to an unknown location.

Somebody had evidently undressed John, and then re-dressed him in - judging by the length and feel of the garments - tasteful silk pajamas, before putting him to bed and leaving him alone. The doctor knew that he was alone, devoid of any company whatsoever, because this was simply what the silence of his new surroundings indicated. John seriously doubted that either a gloating captor or an impatient Holmes brother could wait this long before speaking after realising that the doctor was rousing. This, combined with the caring nature of the aforementioned actions, meant that John was more inclined to believe that either one or both of the Holmes brothers had left him here, rather than him having been abducted and held captive by one of their many enemies, or worse. Fortunately, Mr Holmes's murderer was unlikely to mistake John for either Sherlock or Mycroft. The murderer was obviously a man who knew his targets well; his style of murder was premeditated, and therefore would not risk anything as foolish as mistaken identity. As reserved as the Holmes brothers were, it was obvious that they had both been taught the appropriate way to deal with situations like this one, even if they did not always choose to exercise it; for example, Sherlock's reaction to the discovery of 'Rachel' in 'A Study in Pink' was still ingrained in John's mind. The doctor couldn't help but wonder what kind of upbringing the two brothers had had to turn them into what - and who - they currently were, and consequently desensitise them from all of this.

Alongside all of these other miscellaneous thoughts whirling around his head, John managed to reason that the Holmes brothers would be spectacularly ignorant with regards to comprehending what kind of sentimental effect this abandonment would have on him, whereas a psychopath with malicious intentions would have tried to evoke this feeling deliberately, and would not have wasted any time or effort on John to make him feel as comfortable as he did at present. Therefore, John was fairly certain that once he had become an obstacle in Mycroft and Sherlock's plans - in other words, he had failed to comply with their every demand like he usually did - they had simply dealt with him, and moved on. John couldn't help but think that this last thought in particular might be applicable on a wider scale, foreshadowing what the brothers would undoubtedly do to him once they tired of him, as he was so ordinary compared to the uniqueness that each Holmes brother possessed - but the doctor felt too drained, both emotionally and physically, to dwell on it any more at present. He decided to concentrate on gaining control over his body again, which was a more logical, but much more difficult, feat due to the unnatural cause of his prolonged slumber.

When he eventually managed to prize his sticky eyelids open, John found that he was no longer in the Diogenes Club. In fact, he had never seen this particular room before. He had been right though; whoever had left him here had placed him on the left hand side of a bed, wearing grey silk pajamas. The bed was located in the centre of the room, allowing space to fit the little bedside table near John's head, on which a small lamp stood. The lamp gave off just enough light so as to gently illuminate every corner of the room. John deduced that this had been done to assure both John and whoever was monitoring him via the CCTV feed - located in the top right hand corner of the room, the doctor had noticed - that there were no undetected intruders lurking in the dark, waiting to pounce and harm him. Feeling reassured that he had been right, and that it had been a Holmes brother that had left him here, John sat up in bed tentatively to scrutinise his new surroundings. A large note had been taped to the door of the bedroom opposite, and John could immediately detect that it was Sherlock's handwriting that had been hastily scribbled and scrawled all over it. Even from on the bed, if the doctor squinted, he could read what the detective had written.

_John, don't panic. You're safe. Obstinate, but safe. Mycroft and I left you here - it's a secure location. Text me as soon as you read this. SH_

John almost laughed with incredulity. He was being obstinate? Sherlock Holmes was hypocritically accusing John Watson of being obstinate? The accusation was absurd. However, it seemed that it was not as absurd as Sherlock's demand that John text the detective as soon as he awoke. It took John almost fifteen minutes to locate anything that resembled a mobile phone; the doctor kept walking past the modified phone that Sherlock had left him because he was belated in the realisation that it would be futile for the detective to have left John his own mobile. John's mobile was GPS enabled, which would inadvertently allow a foe to trace him, should the phone be hacked, and this seemed to be an eventuality that Sherlock had gone to great lengths to avoid. The doctor supposed that he should have been grateful that Sherlock was taking every precaution with regards to John's safety - though he couldn't be certain how much of this was the detective's own independent thoughts, and how much had been achieved through Mycroft's provocation - but being drugged and left in a strange room without much of an explanation proved to have a detrimental effect on John's gratitude and politeness. Quickly, he typed out a text message and sent it to Sherlock's mobile number, which he knew off by heart - assuming that the detective had only changed the model of his phone to one without GPS to cater for the same problem as before, but had not changed his SIM card - thereby instigating an argument with 'Mr Punchline'.

**Git. JW**

_Ah good, you're finally awake. Really, John, how much sleep does one need? You left me with no choice but to do what I did, John. You were being illogical. SH_

**No I wasn't, but even if I was, Sherlock, that still does NOT give you the right to drug somebody, abduct them, and then imprison them! You can't keep me here, wherever 'here' is! JW**

_Evidently I can, and actually John, it seems that I have every right to do so. SH_

**Then I'm assuming that Mycroft had something to do with this, because there is no way that what you just said would hold up in a court of law otherwise. Tell him to release me. At once. JW**

_An impossible suggestion, as I am the only one who possesses the exact coordinates of your location. SH_

**Then divulge the information to somebody else and have them release me! JW**

_No, and before you ask, I will not be apologising for my actions, so don't waste your time waiting for me to do so. This conversation might move a bit quicker if you would cease acting so dramatically. You have not been imprisoned. SH_

**How is being drugged and locked away in an undisclosed location against my will NOT being imprisoned, Sherlock? And if you call THAT being dramatic, then I dread to think what you'll make of the performance that I have in store for you next time I see you! JW**

_Trying to dissuade me by threatening me with your amateur dramatics is futile. Do try and keep up, John. You're being protected, not imprisoned. Mycroft's men are under strict instructions that nobody, apart from me, is to be permitted entrance to your rooms. SH_

**Not even Mycroft? JW**

_No, not even Mycroft. He's part of the 'nobody' that isn't allowed to enter because they aren't me. Really, John, pay attention. SH_

**Why won't you let Mycroft in? JW**

_I would have thought the answer to that was obvious. I've already told you the answer. SH_

**It's not obvious to me. JW**

_Clearly. You know how I despise repeating myself, John. I won't let Mycroft in because I love you. SH_

**You see, you keep saying that, but I don't actually think that 'love' is the right sentiment that you are trying to convey. JW**

_Irrelevant. It was apt enough for you to get the gist of what I meant at the time. SH_

**And what exactly DID you mean, Sherlock? JW**

_You're being dull, John, by dwelling on sentimental aspects that I'd rather delete. Stop it. They are unimportant, ergo there is no need to keep bringing them up. SH_

**It matters to me! And stop using fancy words like 'ergo' in texts when you don't need to. I already know how clever you are - there's no need to rub it in. JW**

_Really, John, I'm a little busy right now, trying to hunt down a murderer without allowing myself or my brother to be killed in the process. Can't this discussion wait? SH_

**Do you promise to come back alive? JW**

_I can promise that I'll TRY to, John, but I can't guarantee that I will. You know that I can't. SH_

**Not good enough. In which case, this discussion can't wait. Tell me what you meant. JW**

_I refuse to go through all the intricacies and complexities of my thought processes regarding this matter via text, John. At present, I think repeating my earlier assertion that I do not want to risk you being injured or killed in this current investigation is a more than adequate summary of what I meant. There, has your innate need to make everything sentimental been satisfied? SH_

**Stop it, Sherlock. That wasn't your decision to make! JW**

_I beg to differ. I'll think you'll find that it was. SH_

**No, Sherlock, it wasn't! If I decide that I want to risk getting hurt in order to protect you, then that's my choice, NOT YOURS! I thought we'd already established this on the numerous occasions in the past that I've demonstrated my willingness to do so. JW**

**Sherlock? Are you there? JW**

**Are you okay? Has something happened? JW**

**I can't even contact Mycroft to double check as to whether or not your silence is a bluff, or if you're actually in danger. He's always phoned from a blocked number before. If this is a game, Sherlock, stop it. Please. Are you alright? JW**

**Dammit, Sherlock! Answer your phone. JW**

**I swear that I'll break these doors down in a minute, Sherlock. I don't care if I break a limb in the process! If anything has happened to you... JW**

There was no reply from Sherlock. John kept checking the phone anxiously every few seconds, in case he had somehow managed to miss the text alert noise or illuminated screen every time he received a sarcastic, know-it-all, aggravating response from the detective. Needless to say that he hadn't. Sherlock had simply gone silent, which was a rare - and therefore terrifying - occurrence. The detective always ensured that he had the last word. John just had to hope that, this time, the last word had not in fact been Sherlock's last word.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, frustratedly banging the palms of his hands against the locked door, all the while acknowledging the futility of his actions, but carrying on nonetheless. If anything had happened to Sherlock, if John had caused anything to happen to him by distracting the detective, then the doctor knew that he would never forgive himself. It didn't even cross his mind that, if Sherlock died, nobody would ever be able to find John again because the detective was the only person who knew exactly where the doctor had been hidden away. The only thing that John was preoccupied with was the safety of his friend. Sherlock was so much more than a friend to John, but right now was certainly not the best time to be evaluating the correct label for their unusual relationship. "Is there anybody out there? Hello? Please, you have to help me! I think Sherlock might be in trouble! Let me out! Or if you can't, get a message to Mycroft. Please. He'll know what to do."

There was no reply.


End file.
